Infatuation
by repossessme
Summary: Garak and Bashir have a discussion in the infirmary. Pre-slash vignette, Garak/Bashir.


"Garak, this... infatuation you seem to have with me is beginning to get a little distracting," Julian Bashir sighed and scanned the length of the Cardassian's prostrate body.

"Infatuation? Doctor, you wound me," Garak said as he sat upright on the examining table. He was wide-eyed, as if wholly shocked at the insinuation.

Bashir shook his head, the corners of his mouth betraying a hidden smile. "Well, despite that, you're perfectly fine," he snapped the tricorder shut, ceasing at once the shrill blips it emitted. "This is the second time in as many days that you've come to the infirmary when nothing's been wrong," he turned around and began to record what medical data he had acquired from the scan onto a PADD. "I do have patients who actually require my presence, you know," he said softly.

"My dear doctor," Garak swung his powerful legs over to the other side of the biobed, "I simply miss the - dare I say? - thought provoking conversations we share."

Bashir whirled about on his heel, arms akimbo. "Garak! We have lunch once a week, every week. What's there to miss?"

Garak tilted his head slightly. "Are you aware that there are seven days in a week?" The words slid off of his reptillian tongue as if they were oil.

"And are you aware that I couldn't possibly have lunch with you every day? Regardless of my desire, or lack thereof, to do so, it simply isn't feasible due to my schedule." Bashir shifted on his feet, nervously adjusting the collar of his uniform.

"It doesn't have to be lunch," Garak persisted, "I do understand that you're a very busy man - as am I! However, I merely wish to engage you in conversation on a more regular basis. Have you any idea how tedious hemming trousers all day is?"

"Not in the slightest," Bashir circled the biobed, watching as the other man's eyes tracked even the most minute of his movements. "But I do know that I'm not the only one on this station with a mouth. If it's conversation you're after, I'm sure you can find another suitable partner."

"I can't argue with that sentiment, yet I don't believe there is anyone else as stimulating as yourself aboard Deep Space 9."

"What about Odo? He's a rather intriguing fellow."

"The constable?" Garak nearly snorted, "Of course he's intriguing, though he isn't what I would consider a conversationalist. Frankly, he isn't much of an ideal listener either. At least not to me."

"Why not?" Bashir crossed his arms guardedly over his chest, "Because he's not impressed by your duplicitous nature?"

"I prefer the term mysterious, doctor," Garak rose off the biobed, smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit as he did so.

"At any rate, as I mentioned before, I do have other patients to tend to," Bashir made an attempt to usher Garak out of the room. "And, from now on, please come to the infirmary only when you're actually in need of care."

"I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise," he clasped his moderately scaled grey hands at his waist.

"I mean it, Garak," Bashir called after him, "Doctor's orders."

Garak stopped at the entryway for a moment, and craned his head backward, "There's hope for you yet, Julian."

"You always say that," a grin crept onto the young man's face.

"I always said you were perceptive, as well," Garak took a few more steps toward the Promenade, "If you're going to bar my visits to the infirmary, you could do at least to patron my shop. As I recall, you wanted to comission a jacket not long ago. I did draw up the pattern, I presume you're still interested?"

"Oh?" in truth, Bashir was somewhat taken aback that Garak had remembered his off-handed comment about the garment at all. It had been a month ago, at least, because he had only mentioned it due to the fact that he was getting some alterations done to his new and rather ill-fitting uniform. "I'll try to come by soon then," he slicked his hair back absently with one hand.

Garak only nodded slowly in response, then left the infirmary. Bashir's eyes were on his back for a short while until he was out of view, having rounded a bend in the Promenade. The doctor shook his head, as if waking himself from a trance. He rubbed his temples and got back to work.


End file.
